


A Homecoming

by canis_m



Category: Juuni Kokki | Twelve Kingdoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Feelings, Intimacy, M/M, The beauties of nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_m/pseuds/canis_m
Summary: His face tilted warmly into the light.  “I want to see the tree where Master Gyousou grew.”
Relationships: Saku Gyousou/Taiki | Takasato Kaname
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	A Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> A series of drabbles and double drabbles that turned into a story. Vague spoilers for _Shirogane no Oka, Kuro no Tsuki_.
> 
> いつの日にか 帰らん  
> 山は靑き 故郷

“Garyou,” said Taiki, without hesitation, when asked where he might like to go. A few days’ excursion, a brief respite from the palace and their unending work.

It would not have been Gyousou’s first guess. “There’s little to see there, now,” he said.

“By now people must be rebuilding.”

“Some, yes.” The road still ran through the mountains, paved in good stone.

“The riboku,” said Taiki, surprising him again. “Even if the temple burned, might the riboku still be standing?” He looked up. His face tilted warmly into the light. “I want to see the tree where Master Gyousou grew.”

*

When they alighted outside the ruined town in the mountains, near sundown, Taiki wished he’d chosen anywhere else.

One section of town was busy: the small inn, the grander inn being reconstructed, the lean row of vendors hawking travelers’ goods. The greater part was ghostly, deserted, stone foundations darkened with char.

Gyousou dismounted Ragou. A weight lined his face, one Taiki knew, as if from looking in a mirror. 

Taiki slid down heavily from Keito’s back, sick at heart.

If he’d asked me to show him Hourai, Taiki thought—that place, that house. That’s what I’ve done, asking for this.

*

The wall encircling the riboku had been rebuilt, and the temple hall. Ribbons clung sparsely to the bare, tortuous branches, in knotted strips of brown and grey.

“For children?” asked Taiki, still subdued.

Gyousou glanced at the ribbons, mouth twisting. “Horned ones.”

Taiki blinked.

“Sheep or goats.”

“Oh.”

“Or a dog to herd them. Prayers for children would be of brighter cloth. The finest to be had.”

Of course, thought Taiki: dumplings before flowers. Goats before kids. It was only sensible, given the town’s condition. Gyousou’s hand settled on his drooping shoulder.

“A goat is no small thing,” he said.

*

In the shadow of the mountains, evening cooled quickly after dusk. The open inn was the most rustic kind: a single long room, with a single shared bed-platform extending the length of it, occupied in places by travelers in huddled groups. Heads turned at Gyousou and Taiki’s entrance, then turned away.

The innkeeper led them to the end of the _kang_ furthest from the door. She drew a curtain to section off some semblance of private space. The curtain had perhaps been lovely once. Shedding his shoes, Taiki climbed onto the platform. Dim heat warmed his palms; the hearth beneath was lit.

He looked at Gyousou, who stood by as if awaiting a verdict. 

“It’s warm,” he said.

For dinner they ate porridge, the same as the other travelers. Now and then fragments of muted conversation reached them: pilgrims worried over the road ahead, a man’s voice waxing eloquent about the town distillery, much mourned.

Gyousou’s mouth had twitched. “That’ll be next to be rebuilt,” he murmured. “The men of I are thirsty folk.”

“Was it as good as he says?”

“A native son won’t tell you otherwise.” Gyousou fingered his empty cup. “But it’s not what I most miss.”

* 

He kept his sword in reach on one side, Taiki on the other. When the innkeeper dimmed the lamps, the low light and ragged curtain put Taiki at ease enough to settle close, under Gyousou’s outspread cloak, almost as if they were alone. 

“Did you have a house here?” Taiki asked, too softly to be overheard, just when Gyousou thought he might’ve dozed. 

“My family home. It was to become a school. I’d made arrangements.”

“Did we go by the place, earlier?”

“We did.” 

Taiki drew a fraught breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked for this.”

Gyousou looked down in surprise. “Don’t be. The visit was past due.” Taiki’s eyes remained lowered, his head bowed. Gyousou laid a hand on his sleek dark hair; it soothed, as it always did. “It won’t be as it was, but it’ll be well again. I should’ve brought you when you were small. I wish I had.”

Taiki fitted himself more tightly near. “I wish that, too.” After a pause he added, in a lower voice, “I wish we had our own room.”

His meaning was so plain that Gyousou could’ve laughed for the startled joy of it.

“As do I,” he said. 

*

In the morning they rode together on Keito by the high road, Ragou on a tether behind. At Taiki’s ear Gyousou named the peaks of the range. Stark, snow-crowned even in summer, they arched over slopes where herds drifted like shadows of clouds.

Taiki followed them with his eyes, breathing thin, clear air. A lightness welled in his chest and escaped him, almost without sound.

Gyousou noticed. “Hm?”

“I was just thinking. Master Gyousou grew on the same tree as sheepdogs.”

“Indeed.”

Taiki nestled backward. “They must be magnificent dogs.”

“Minding the lambs,” Gyousou murmured, smiling with teeth against his ear.

They passed gorges whose sheer faces plunged to a silver river far below. Later the cliffs gave way to subalpine meadows, clad in green-gold sedges and scattered with summer flowers. 

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Gyousou said after a time. 

“All the way out here?”

“He’s less than fond of people.”

Taiki craned his neck, but couldn’t catch Gyousou’s expression. “Are you going to tell me who it is?”

“You’ll see.” 

When Gyousou nuzzled the crown of his head, not for the first time that morning, Taiki puffed a breath and turned to the vista ahead.

Leaving the road, they flew up slope through the valley, until they came to a stone hut by a stream. 

“Is this the place?” Taiki asked. Affirming, Gyousou swung down from Keito’s back. Taiki dismounted after him, trailing behind.

An old man emerged from the hut. He was bearded, not tall, with a keen, vulpine face. He eyed Gyousou beadily and didn’t kneel.

It was Gyousou who went to one knee on the grass, fist clasped in his opposite palm. Taiki hastened to follow suit, glancing wide-eyed between the king and the old man.

“Master,” Gyousou said.

The old man looked unimpressed. When he spoke, his voice was harsh from disuse, but had no rancor in it.

“About time,” he said.

“Please excuse my lateness.” Gyousou rose, gesturing first toward the old man—“Kouri, this is Kenkou, who taught me the sword”—and then to Taiki. “The Saiho of Tai.”

Keen eyes trained on Taiki, who unthinkingly straightened his back. “It’s an honor to meet you,” Taiki said.

Kenkou surveyed him up and down, then hawked a dry laugh.

“For a while I thought Heaven had it in for you,” he said to Gyousou. “But maybe God loves you, after all.”

*

Gyousou unloaded the provisions from Ragou’s pack: tea, sacks of flour and pearled barley, a jar of good rice wine. He set them in the corner of the hut’s single room.

“Could’ve used all that a few years ago,” sniffed Kenkou. “When you were doing your best to get deposed.”

“No doubt.” Gyousou stood back, observing. “The house is new.”

“Miserable shits wrecked the old one,” Kenkou said, and Gyousou grimaced. “Same as the town. They never found my den.”

“I thought not.”

“Well, since the Taiho’s here, we’d better have tea. Go fetch water, will you?” Kenkou handed Gyousou a bucket and shooed him.

Taiki peeked forward. “I could—”

“No, let him. You’re the guest.” When Gyousou had stepped out, Kenkou eyed Taiki again. “Never thought I’d have a kirin in my house. I hope you knew what you were about, choosing that one.”

“I didn’t, at first,” said Taiki honestly. “I turned him down.”

Kenkou began to wheeze. He was still wheezing when Gyousou returned with the tea water.

“Turned you down, did he?” he crooned at Gyousou, who set the bucket on the floor.

“Kouri,” murmured Gyousou.

“Well, I did,” said Taiki, and Kenkou cackled outright.

*

They sat outside, in front of the hut, overlooking the brook and meadow. There were two roughly hewn wooden stools; in absence of a third, Gyousou seated himself on the ground. When Taiki tried to protest and exchange seats, Kenkou said blandly, “Leave him. He's fine where he is,” and sipped his tea.

“As to the town,” Gyousou said, “I’ve allocated funds for restoration. Grants for returning residents. There have been fewer than I'd hoped.”

“Hard to go back after watching it all burn,” Kenkou said.

“Would you?” asked Gyousou. Kenkou’s eyes narrowed. “I wondered if you'd consider teaching again.”

“You’d have me induct more striplings into the tender art of bloodshed, eh? Yank them from the teat, put blades in their hands?”

“I'm afraid Tai can't yet dispense with the sword, nor those who wield it,” said Gyousou. “Not for some time.”

“Hmm. What does the Taiho say?”

Taiki was quiet for a moment, conscious of their attention on him. A pang beat in his chest, leaving heaviness behind, but he answered truthfully. “If it weren't for the sword, Master Gyousou and I wouldn't be here.”

“Hmm. Well. I might consider it.” Gazing down the valley, Kenkou drained his cup. 

*

Gyousou requested a practice bout; Kenkou declined. Instead he prescribed katas—“So we can see just how rusty you are.” Gyousou performed them. His efforts were deemed passable. He produced such a sweat that he had to strip to the waist and rinse down in the stream.

The water was bracing. When he finished, Taiki was there to help him back into his clothes. Gyousou accepted this as the gesture of claiming it was, with unalloyed pleasure.

“Do you think he'll say yes?” 

“We'll see.” Gyousou secured his belt and Kangyoku at his side. “When I was young he took on one apprentice at a time. He did have a small school, once. So the legends say.”

“Legends?”

“He was immortal already when he taught me.”

As they made ready to leave, Kenkou said, “You'd better do something about that riboku. Since it burned it hasn't borne anything but beasts.”

Startled, Gyousou paused in checking Keitou's saddle.

“Did someone pray for a child?” asked Taiki, a tremor in his voice.

Kenkou smiled crookedly. “Damned optimists. So, make yourself useful.” When they were mounted, he offered a courtesy. “Long life and good health to the Taiho.”

“To you, too,” Taiki said.

*

They would cut a sprig from the riboku at Hakkei Palace, said Gyousou's voice at Taiki's ear. They’d plant it by the tree that had endured the fire. The sprig would grow, and then there would be two trees in Garyou, side by side, branches intertwining.

Taiki’s eyes blurred, not from the wind. The valley below them swayed with flowers: violet and flame-red, white like constellated stars. He touched the hand that held the reins. 

“Could we stop here, for a little while? If there's time.”

Gyousou turned their course toward the wildflowers, guiding their descent.

“There's time,” he said.


End file.
